


The S.T.U.D.

by ann2who



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Poor Tony, Shameless Smut, Steve Feels, Technological Kink, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, kind of, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann2who/pseuds/ann2who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unexpected and somewhat bizarre story of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark falling madly in love with one another…<br/>…over an A.I. fucking machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The S.T.U.D.

_March 2014, Present day_

 

First off, Tony wanted to emphasize that nothing of this had been his fault.

Admittedly, it wasn’t Steve’s fault either.

Well – not really. It was more the fault of Steve’s ridiculous shoulder-to-waist ratio, his innocent All-American-boy smiles, and the way his blue eyes became almost black whenever he got extremely angry at something. It was just too sexy a sight. Steve tended to get angry with Tony _a lot_ , and really, there was only so much sexual frustration Tony could be expected to endure.

Also, it was important to acknowledge, building an A.I. fucking machine hadn’t been his first approach to solving this problem. Just because he was head over heels for the Captain, in a way he never had been for _anymore_ , didn't mean he would immediately resolve to such drastic measures. No. Not him. Clearly, he was more mature than that.

He had grown as a human being. He had become a responsible team member. He had friends now; friends who depended on him, and a life full of, well, life-saving and stuff like that. So building the S.T.U.D. really had been more of a last-resolve kind of thing.

The whole thing? Not his fault. Not at all. He refused to take the blame for this.

That being said, Tony sighed dramatically and tapped on the holographic interface in front of him. He created another folder, right beside the one that was titled S.T.U.D. and started to make plans about how he could continue his life without having to face Steve ever again.

 

* * *

 

_June 2013_

 

After the Chitauri’s attack, all Avengers besides Tony and Bruce instantly left New York.

Thor had to bring his lunatic of a brother back to Asgard, Rogers did his little getting-to-know-his-country-again-motorcycle-trip all over America and Tony supposed that Romanoff and Barton were back at doing their super-secret spy stuff. Infiltrating countries, starting wars, killing people. Stuff like that. Whatever.

Point was, he did not see any of them for months.

Months in which Tony got attacked by a dozen red-glowing wannabe-superhumans, a not-so-real Asian terrorist, and was eventually pushed to destroy all of his suits for the love of his life. Only said love-of-his-life soon decided that she really couldn’t live with being the reason Tony gave up his Iron Man identity.

 _The world still needs you_ , she had said, not even a week later, tears streaming down her beautiful delicate cheeks. It turned out that Pepper couldn’t live with him putting himself in harm's way every day, but she also didn’t want him to stop.

Like that wasn't hypocritical at all.

But Pepper was … well, _Pepper_ , so she was probably right, because... Wasn’t she always? He trusted her with his company, his mind, his heart, with _everything_ , so why not trust her to know when to call it quits?

That’s what the reasonable part of his brain (a.k.a. JARVIS) tried to tell him, anyway. That didn’t mean he had to believe it. It didn’t mean it did not hurt like a bitch to realise that if he couldn’t make it work with Pepper, he certainly would not be able to make it with anyone else.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t get splendidly drunk, either.

In the end, he would always end up alone.

But yeah, point was, he did not see any of the Avengers for a long time, and honestly, even though he hated the quiet and the emptiness in the tower, he did not miss them. He was glad, actually. They hadn’t exactly parted as friends. Mutual respect maybe, yes, but Tony respected top ramen and cheap beer, so that wasn’t really ground to work on.

They weren’t a team, and Tony was sure they never would be.

Better cut himself out of any stupid illusions right away.

Well, Bruce was living in the tower now, of course. But Bruce was _Bruce_. He was a science geek like Tony, so it was pretty much a given that they’d connect on a certain level, but even though they worked together, they never really got past that. Sometimes they’d make jokes about New York, the Avengers, SHIELD or just everyday life, sure, but they weren’t exactly best buddies.

There was always a certain distance, and Tony had never been an expert on how to overcome that barrier without getting splendidly drunk and ordering a few strippers.

It _had_ worked with Rhodey.

He wasn’t so sure it would work with Bruce.

Or the Hulk.

He just didn’t know how to make people like him genuinely. How to make them trust him.

But then again, he didn’t really trust people either.

 

* * *

 

_October 2013_

 

And then Doctor Doom happened and that changed everything.

It wasn’t an end-of-the-world kind of gig, but it was enough for SHIELD to decide that the Avengers needed to assemble again. So they all came back to New York and, wonder of wonders, it was like they never really had separated at all. The moment they stepped on the streets of New York, the moment Captain America gave his first order, they were back in the game full force.

It was a bit overwhelming actually. Tony couldn’t believe how good it felt to be back out there, couldn’t believe how much he’d missed flying, missed being free and powerful.

Most of all, he had missed being Iron Man.

And then he saved Captain America’s life. Okay, maybe not his _life_ , but he certainly saved him from a couple of serious injuries and – yeah, all right, who was he kidding. Rogers would’ve taken a pretty bad hit, but the doombots were in no way a real danger to someone like Captain America and he would’ve been _fine_. Rationally, Tony knew that, _had_ known that, even in the heat of the battle.

And that was the thing. That was what unsettled him in a way he hadn’t known possible. Tony hadn’t even made a conscious decision about his somewhat embarrassing rescue stunt. One second he had been flying above the Captain, shooting away at some bots, and the next second, he was pushing his repulsors to full speed, tackling the Captain out of the way and taking the bot’s hit himself.

It was over before he could even so much as try to understand what the hell he was doing. Because, seriously, what the fuck was that? He wasn’t a team player to begin with, but he certainly wasn’t Rogers’ friend, hell, he didn’t even _like_ the guy.

And yet. All he had been able to think about was _Captain America will not die on something so stupid as a doombot_. And Tony had his armour. A hit like that would most certainly not even leave a dent. But Steve was only human, serum or not. Steve could die because of something like that.

Rogers was, understandably, a bit confused about being shoved headfirst to the ground for no apparent reason. He was pinned under Tony’s armour, staring up at him like he hadn’t even realized Tony had been here until just now.

“What–” he said, and Tony saw the exact moment when Rogers tried to decide if he needed to start another shouting match with him.

And then he looked at the broken doombot. His brows furrowed and then … then he simply nodded at him, all honesty and boyish smile, so genuinely grateful that Tony didn’t know what to do with himself other than be completely and utterly smitten.

It had gone downhill from there faster than Tony would like to admit.

 

* * *

 

_November 2013_

 

Eventually, the day came when the Avengers moved into Tony's tower.

Fury had ordered Tony to the Hellicarrier, and told him all this load of crap about how they needed to be ready for that kind of stuff, and how the best way to ensure that would be by having them live together.

Tony was ninety-nine percent sure that Fury just wanted the others out of his metaphorical hair.

Fury's big single eye zoomed in on Tony, and then he started to argue, calling Tony on his responsibility to the world and whatnot. Fury talked and talked, giving him reason after reason why he needed to do the right thing now. Tony could’ve stopped him, of course. He could’ve just sauntered out and quit this freak show once and for all, but then …

 _Steve could be living with him_.

And, rationally, he knew that the Captain and he would probably never even get to a first name basis, but that was the thing.

Thinking about Steve? Wasn’t a rational thing anymore. Very much the opposite.

So after an hour, he just nodded politely and accepted Fury's offer. Just like that. It was even kind of funny the way Fury had just stared at him, disbelieving, suspicious, like he was sure Tony was fooling him somehow. He wasn’t. He had floors planned month ago, each with individually arranged interior, gyms and kitchens. Not that he would ever tell Fury. Still, with Pepper gone, the tower had been too big and too empty anyway. Having some people around might turn out to be fun, so, whatever, right?

Maybe he would even get to see Steve in his workout clothes, or something.

That was something to look forward to.

 

* * *

 

Thor visited the tower right after that whole not-so-secret _Dark-Elves-Incident_ in London and promised to come by as often as his _Great-Love-With-The-Wonderful-Jane_ would allow it (capital letters both times very fucking much intended, thank you very much. Seriously, how was this his Goddamn life?)

Romanoff and Barton, like the obedient little agents they were, moved in the very next day.

“We’re doing this because Director Fury said it would be mandatory for the continued existence of the Avengers.” Natasha told Tony while he was leading them to their floors.

Tony snorted. “He didn’t say that.“

Natasha’s face darkened. “Are you implying –“

“Come on Tash. He said _Get out of my sight ye fuckin' morons and bother Stark instead_ ,” Clint said in a long mocking drawl and gave Tony a sly grin.

Tony grinned back. “Thought so. Very charming. So, about Rogers. You said –“

Clint shrugged, like the whole thing hadn’t been a big deal. His shoulders were tense, though, and his mouth a thin line, so Tony guessed that it absolutely had been. “He said he’d probably come by soon.“

So, Rogers was stalling.

No big surprise there.

 

* * *

 

_December 2013_

 

In the end, it had taken Steve three whole weeks to finally move into the tower. It was two weeks ‘til Christmas, and he didn’t even deem it necessary to give them a heads-up … or a reason for his hesitance. Instead, he just walked into the communal area one day, dropped his ridiculously small military knapsack and flopped down on the couch beside Tony.

“Yeah?” Tony asked after a couple of minutes, briefly looking up from his Mario-Kart-game with Clint.

He was losing anyway.

The fucking archer was cheating, and it did _not_ matter what JARVIS had to say on that matter.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded stiffly, not quite looking at him, and that had been it.

The Avengers were now officially living together.

God help them all.

 

* * *

 

_January 2014_

 

Steve and Tony didn't really become friends right away. They still fought more than not; still rubbed each other the wrong way, because at the end of the day, Tony was an asshole who wanted to find what made the Captain lose his temper. Steve was still a righteous prick, who was ten times more stubborn than the average human being.

 _But_.

After a month of constant missions, of nearly dying, of sweat, grime, blood and even more grime, animosity had become respect, respect turned into something like mutual sympathy, and somewhere along the way, Tony believed they had actually started to like each other.

And that would have been good.

It would have been _great_ , really.

They were all bonding as a team, and Tony was pretty sure that Fury was about to give him a fucking fruit basket or something, because, well, no one had really expected that of him, right?

So, yeah, it would have all been rainbows and butterflies …

… if Tony hadn't started fantasizing about all the ways Steve could be fucking him senseless.

“Tony?” Steve said, and right, they had been in the middle of a conversation. He really ought to stop drifting off like that.

“Huh?” he answered eloquently, cringing even as the word left his mouth.

Steve gave him that kind of _Oh, Tony_ smile that was reserved just for him nowadays. Well, that was what Tony kept telling himself, anyway. Nobody said he couldn't indulge himself a little.

“I asked if you wanted coffee?”

“That a rhetorical question?”

Steve’s smile widened even as he rolled his eyes. There was an eerie level of fond exasperation in his features that Tony couldn’t really understand. No one, not even Pepper, had found his little quirks endearing. Annoying, nerve-wrecking, yes, but certainly not endearing. It confused the hell out of him. “No, it was a question that will tell me whether I should A, press this tiny black button, which will make fresh coffee for you, or B, push the other tiny black button, which will turn the machine off.”

Tony snorted. “You know what? I think I liked you better when you thought the coffee machine wanted to kill you.”

Steve chuckled, pressing button A. “I never thought anything like that.”

“I heard you scream like a girl the first time Natasha showed you how we make a cappuccino these days.”

Steve turned around, obviously trying to hide his blush. Well, he _tried_ to, because he didn’t know that the back of his neck always, _always_ got bright red when he blushed.

Not that Tony would tell him that. Ever. Because, as soon as Steve turned around, Tony could openly _stare_ at the flushed skin and imagine all the ways to lick it so it would turn even redder.

He wasn’t obsessed. He. was. not.

“I screamed because I couldn’t believe that coffee came in little plastic capsules nowadays. It was a scream of outrage. It’s not eco-friendly.”

Tony laughed. “They did not have the term _eco-friendly_ in your time, Spangles. Try again.”

Steve turned around and fixed him with a mock-serious stare. “I told you a hundred times. Stop calling me that.”

Tony chuckled. “What should I call you, then? Pet? Sweetheart? My little Goldilocks?”

Steve frowned thoughtfully. “Goldilocks? Really, Tony?” he asked. Then he blinked. “Was that another pop-culture reference or just you being … well,” He made a grand gesture with his free hand, " _you_." As if that could even _begin_ to encompass everything that Tony was.

“A little bit of both.” Tony answered truthfully. He took his cup of coffee from the machine and leaned against the counter, sipping.

“So, what are you gonna do today?” he asked casually. Because that’s what he was. Casual. He was being communicative and interested in people. In a strictly platonic kind of way.

“I thought about testing the new gym, actually. Clint told me you made some punching bags that might actually stand my punches.”

“I did. And they will. I made them for you.” he said and _Oh. My. God._ How the fuck did that sound? He wasn’t a _puppy_ looking to be rewarded for God’s sake. He didn’t need to be _cuddled_.

“That’s really swell, Tony. Thank you.” Steve said, and he practically _beamed_ like … God, like he never had been more happy about something in his entire life and … and they were talking about stupid punching bags, for God’s sake! How … how was this guy even _real_?

“I … uhm … you’re welcome. Have fun. Go crazy, really. I’ll just … I’ll … yeah …” And with that, he raised his steaming cup to Steve, turned around and quickly went down to the workshop, before he could say anything stupid like  _I will build you anything as long as you keep smiling at me like that._

He opened the schematics for Mark 44 and tried not to think about how, within just about two month into this whole living-together-thing, _two fucking month_ , he was already madly in love with Steve Rogers.

He was so screwed.

 

* * *

 

_February 2014_

 

He really wished he would get screwed.

It was all he could think about these days.

It wasn’t _only_ about Steve’s tight, white t-shirts, but those _were_ a problem. Even on normal days, they were fucking _clinging_ to Steve’s abs like second skin or something, outlining every muscle, every dimple. Tony hated those fucking shirts. He wanted to burn them, shred them into little pieces, … or _be_ one of them. Whatever.

And then there were the days when Steve was working out really hard, which always led to the shirts getting a little sweat soaked, and therefore – see-through. And when Steve’s t-shirts were see-through, Tony could see all the smooth, perfect skin underneath, his erect nipples, his hipbones and if he squinted hard enough, he could sometimes even spot the faint, blond hair that trailed down into Steve’s pants.

So, naturally, he was having a little problem. Or a not so little one. Like a permanent boner problem. He had started to do the next logical thing and jerk off every chance he got so his reaction to Steve’s whole perfect-body-situation wouldn’t be that obvious. But then again, nowadays, Steve only had to be within arm’s length and his erection would simply come back with a vengeance.

He had to admit he was a bit impressed with himself. He hadn’t had that many orgasms since he had been in his twenties and it should have been awesome, but mostly, it was really, really exhausting.

He couldn’t work anymore. He couldn’t even _think_ anymore. He had a shitload of things he needed to get done for SI, for the Avengers, even for SHIELD and he just – he couldn’t concentrate. His mind was full of Steve. Not only his body, mind you, but his witty retorts, his sassy jokes (Captain America did those, yeah, he really did), his smiles, those baby blue eyes, his warm laughter and –

“Tony?” Steve said, his voice concerned.

“Huh?” Tony managed, blinking. He then forced himself to stop staring at the stripe of skin that was visible between Steve’s white-shirt-of-doom and his grey sweatpants.

Steve chuckled, and there it was again. The fondness. What was wrong with this guy? “Is this going to be some sort of tradition?” he asked, laying a hand on top of Tony’s shoulder, stroking a little. “You’re always zoning out on me lately. I asked you if you wanted coffee. Again.”

Tony rolled his eyes, very subtly turning his hip to the side. “And I already told you. If I’m in the kitchen? If I’m still alive? If I don’t already have a cup in my hand? I’ll want coffee. Come on Rogers, just push the button, I know you like it when things instantly do what you tell ‘em.”

And Steve did just that, laughing loud and beautiful and looking at Tony like he was his favourite person in the world and how … _how_ was Tony supposed to survive all this without mentally breaking?

“You know what? I totally forgot something in the shop. Like, risky experiment stuff. We don’t want to that to explode, trust me. Sorry. You take the coffee, I’ll just … I’m gonna … yeah …” And with that – for about the tenth time this week – he practically ran out of his own kitchen.

 

* * *                              

 

_March 2014, Present day_

 

“What the fucking hell are you wearing, Rogers?” Tony snapped viciously.

And yeah. He hadn’t meant to sound so angry, really, the whole thing wasn’t Steve’s fault, but he hadn’t slept in two days, and the damn coffee machine was still brewing. He was tired and cranky and … he had not had sex in _nine month_ , which was probably the longest time he’d ever gone without since he’d turned _fifteen_.

Steve looked down on himself for a second and when he gazed back at Tony, it was all innocence and confusion. “My … uniform? You should recognize it, since you're the one who made it.”

“Oh, very funny Rogers,” Tony barked. “I'm aware that that’s your uniform, but why are you wearing it like –,” he made a gesture with his hand that should easily encompass all the _wrongness_ of Steve’s look. “– like _that_.”

It just wasn’t fair.

He hadn’t always been the nicest person, he was well aware of that. But what the fuck had he done to deserve all this?

Wasn’t it enough that Steve was torturing him with his see-through tightey-whiteys? Or with his affectionate private smiles and the honest gazes, the _I believe in you, Tony’s_?

Wasn’t it enough that Tony dreamed of Steve every night? Not just in a sexual way, although, well, _lately_ … but not _only_ in a sexual way, for God’s sake.

He dreamed about just _talking_ to Steve, just _listening_ to all the things he had found out about the future, about all the things he still _wanted_ to learn. He dreamed of Steve telling him about how he was still afraid of the cold, or how, sometimes, it would take him ten minutes of thinking whether or not he could afford another drawing pencil, before he remembered that those things were practically for free these days.

No. Obviously, it wasn’t enough to slowly drive Tony insane.

He had to waltz in here looking like a fucking porn star, too.

“You can’t just come in here looking like this.” Tony snarled and pointed accusingly at Steve’s bare, sweat-glistening chest. His uniform was rolled down all the way to his hipbones. And Steve’s hipbones were lethal. They were mocking him and he was a second away from just dropping to his knees right here and now, gripping at the tight material of Steve’s uniform, yanking it down to his thighs until he could just wrap his lips around Steve’s cock and be done with this whole ridiculous charade.

“Like what?” Steve asked and looked at him like he had no idea what could possibly be the problem here.

“This is the _kitchen_!” Tony yelled. “I am _eating_ here, for fuck’s sake. Even if I don’t do it often, I do it. I come here, and I eat. This is one of the few places where I don’t need to bother with shit like this. This is a safe place, Steven, a happy place, a place without –” _your ridiculous broad shoulders, your sweat soaked skin, your messy hair, your deep pink lips, your Goddamn_ hipbones _and the blond hair trailing down your …_ “You know what? I can’t deal with this,” Tony said and stood up abruptly.

Steve’s eyes widened almost comically. “No, wait, I'm sorry, I didn’t know it would bother you. Really, I shouldn’t just have presumed … You don’t have to go, please, I am going to …”

And then Steve bent down to grab at the sleeves. And that was … yeah …

His ass flexed when he tried to put the uniform back on. The muscles in his back were shifting and there was actually a single drop of sweat slowly running down his spine, like it _wanted_ Tony to put his tongue there and just …

That was the last straw to his so far, if he might say, pretty amazing patience. Honestly, he was impressed with himself at how long he had lasted without snapping. This? This was it. He just couldn’t take it anymore. He was _done_. Also, he was sure, if Steve would so much as _look_ at him right now, Tony would spontaneously come into his pants, just like that, touch very much not fucking required.

And wouldn’t that make an interesting conversation.

_“What was that?”_

_“Oh nothing. I just jizzed myself, because you bent your hip the wrong way.”_

“Yeah, I really gotta go.” he said, trying not to sound too panicked and shoved his chair back with a loud squeak. He bolted of the kitchen, very much ignoring Steve’s hurt gaze, while trying to hide his erection behind the tablet he still cradled in his hand like a lifeline.

 

* * *

 

He ascended to the workshop, immediately locking down all security feeds and made JARVIS open a new project folder. He stared at the empty entry line, mulling over what he was about to do, about what he’d let himself be pushed towards.

He thought about it, and frankly? He didn’t care anymore.

If he was being a total pervert, he might as well go all out with it.

He’d never been a guy who does things half-heartedly. Go big or don’t go at all. So he summoned the holographic keyboard, running various acronyms in his head, and finally typed S.T.U.D., chuckling quietly to himself.

Steve would never know about this. Might as well have a little fun on his behalf.

He thought about remodelling one of the older suits for a second, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Whatever Pepper had to say, the armour _was_ his cocoon. He felt safe in it. It was like second skin to him, and if this went wrong, _however wrong_ , he would lose that.

“Alright, J., open a direct order. Express delivery all over. Make it anonymous, though. We really don't want this to come up on the company's next bill. First off, we need all the parts we used for the helper bots’ main strut.”

“Sir,” JARVIS chimed in. “While I certainly would appreciate another helping hand in the house, I believe that at this point Dum-E and U produce enough havoc for the sake of all of us.”

“This is not going be another helper bot, J. No, just, – I need strut material. Get every component twice. Leave the joints though, we’re going to build them from scratch; this has to be way more delicate than Dum-E’s horrible motor skills. Also, I need silicone, the good kind, and a lot of hypo-allergenic, dermatological cleaning agent. And well ... we need water-based lubricant, you know which one, and make it a big order; we're going to fill one of the jerrycans with it. I’m pretty sure we can’t use too much lube here ...”

“Sir,” JARVIS started and now he sounded wary. "I am not sure where this is going.”

“Oh honey, I think you know exactly where this is going.”

If JARVIS had been able to sigh, he would be doing it right now, Tony was sure of it. “So this is ... what I think it is?”

“Come on, J.,” Tony said. “I’m sure we both knew this day would come eventually.”

“I hoped it would not, sir.”

Tony laughed. “At this point, honestly, it’s that, prostitutes or asylum. And I believe you agree that we don’t want to make Miss Potts go through another tell-all exclusive, do we?”

There was a small pause. “No, indeed, sir, I believe that would not be beneficial to your continued health.”

“Exactly. So, lube, J., lots of lube.”

“I ordered Maximus, sir,” JARVIS said and he sounded so resigned, Tony wanted to laugh out loud.

“You know me so well, baby.”

“I'm sure there are still new sides of you I am about to see, sir.”

Tony cackled while tapping away the first lines of programming. Fun aside; this wouldn’t be an easy build, not easy at all. He couldn’t allow himself to make mistakes here. Not that he ever made mistakes. “Does that mean you want to watch, J.? Didn’t really pack you for the voyeuristic kind of A.I.”

"There is only one kind of A.I. at this point of human evolution, sir, and that is me.”

“And here Fury told me _I_ was being a textbook narcissist.”

“I am merely copying the behaviour patterns of my environment, sir.”

“Sassy, J., sassy,” Tony grinned. “Love it.” And he’d never tell anyone, but there were still moments, not often, but regularly, like right now, when he was still positively awed by his own creation.

“I live to serve, sir.”

Tony smiled and shook his head. “We both know stuff like that only takes up like two percent of your working resources, J.”

“One point two, to be exact, sir.”

“You know what? We should probably employ a shrink. Do something about that huge ego of yours.”

“That is a wonderful idea, sir. I approve. He may be able to talk you out of this nonsense.”

Tony burst out laughing. “If he is six point two feet tall, blond and blue-eyed, I might let him convince me, assuming he has some good … _approaches_. Calculate these motion patterns for me?”

JARVIS obviously decided not to grace that with an answer, but a couple of seconds later, dozens of variables started scrolling down his monitor.

 

* * *

 

It took him over twenty hours to do the programming and another ten for the actual build. You’d think that building a fucking machine would be easier than that. Well, honestly, if Tony had been satisfied with anything they used for cheap porn movies, he probably would’ve been done in half an hour.

Instead, he built the most advanced, sensitive, intelligent fucking machine this world had ever seen. Not that anyone would actually ever get to see it, but yeah. Not the point.

In the end, he had to admit that it didn't look like much. Basically, it was just another arm on wheels. He was good at those. Only there wasn’t a hand, but a small, elegant silicone dildo stuck to its front. It looked pretty ordinary, all things considered, since it was the inside that was nothing short of genius. Still, that just wouldn’t do. Because _this machine_ was probably the third best thing he’d ever created, and ordinary just wasn’t in the cards for something he built. Also, if he was showing Steve his internal middle finger, he might as well make it look good.

So he did what any sane person would do, and ordered JARVIS to do a quick paint job, making it as flashy and obnoxious as possible.

By the time the colour had dried, Tony had taken a quick shower and stepped back into the workshop with nothing more than a towel around his hips.

He walked towards the machine and actually considered waiting until tomorrow.

Maybe he’d think about this differently in the morning.

Maybe he’d stop wanting it altogether.

But just the thought of going up there now, of facing Steve, of talking to him, smelling him, touching him without being allowed to _have_ him made his heart clench in a way that had nothing to do with the shrapnel around it.

Yeah. He might as well get it over with now.

“Alright. J.,” he said, “increase temperature to 78. Cut all remaining security feeds. I want a complete blackout. No audio or visual input. No calls, no visitors. Leave the Avengers line open, but just the signal, no direct calls. I won’t be disturbed unless someone tries to destroy the city, you get me?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I set a safeword that overrides my orders and enables you to call for help. Do not, I repeat, do NOT call for help unless you hear me say the exact wording.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Same goes for the squeeze ball. If anything fatal should happen, which it won't, I linked it to your system. If it loses contact to me for over a minute, you’ll call for help.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS repeated dutifully.

“Alright,” he said. And okay, he was nervous now and that was _so_ unlike him. He was Tony Stark, for God’s sake. Half of the ratty gossip magazines had already done cover stories about his potential techno kink. Love affair with his suit, robot sex slaves, it was all there. But he never _actually_ had done this before.

Also, not only had he been on a nine month hiatus in the sex department in general, he also couldn’t remember when he had done this _particular_ thing for the last time. Five years? Six maybe? He simply hadn’t felt the need with Pepper. He had been content with what they had done, happy even.

But lusting after Steve had seemed to awaken all kinds of cravings he had thought were long forgotten.

Like wanting to get his ass fucked until he couldn’t walk anymore.

Stuff like that.

“Okay,” he sighed, admitting defeat. “Total blackout.”

“Blackout initiated.” JARVIS’ calm voice echoed through the shop and there was only a little hint of exasperation in there. Tony was almost proud of his A.I., but then again, JARVIS was probably secretly a bit relieved that Tony's recent bitchy attitude would finally come to an end.

He would get Steve shoved out of his mind.

Slowly, Tony made his way towards the machine. It was standing right behind a heightened platform. It wasn’t a chair exactly, more like a horizontal surface with cushioned rests for his arms and legs. He quickly straddled it, before his nerves would get the better of him, leaning forward until his chest was pressing down on the cool, hard surface. He took the two pillows he had placed beside the bench and stuffed one under his crotch and the other underneath the arc reactor. Then he took the towel off his hips, exposing his ass to the open air.

There was a handhold on each armrest, which he grabbed while laying his cheek down on the cold surface. He picked the squeeze ball up into his left hand and took a deep breath.

“Initiate,” he mumbled and he’d like to say his knuckles weren’t bone white with anticipation.

There was a soft whirr and it was like he could practically hear every line of coding being taken into action. It was beautiful, really. A perfect orchestra. And, just when he expected it to happen, the machine was pressing the little silicone dildo to his exposed hole. It wasn’t breaching him yet, of course, just running up and down his cleft, spreading lube all over the place.

Tony sighed softly, closing his eyes, letting it all happen. It was programmed to know what he wanted after all. The head of the thing circled the little ring of muscles several times, trying to get him to relax, trying to make him give in.

God, how he wanted to.

It took him a couple of minutes to get his breathing under control, and the second he did, there was a slight pressure at his hole. He forced himself not to clamp down, forced himself to be open for this.

When the dildo pushed into him, it wasn’t exactly a burn, but more of an unfamiliar and slightly impersonal feeling. It wasn’t any bigger than a finger yet, curved in a long elegant form, with a base wide enough so it wouldn’t push too deep too fast.

But the machine didn’t move at all, leaving it to Tony to decide when he was ready. So, after a minute, he began to rock back gently, shivering when the thing started to pull out, mimicking his movements. Tony moaned softly, pressing his face onto the surface. He hadn’t expected it to feel so good right away. He had expected not to enjoy this, actually. Not at first, anyway.

He was still moving very slowly, taking only a few more inches every time. Was the thing growing already? He’d programmed it to know when he wanted more, wanted it bigger and harder, when he was loose enough to take it, but he had not thought it would happen so quickly.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, biting the pillow underneath his chest, hips jerking when the silicone dick slid into him again, a little more forcefully this time, adding more lube on the way. He felt so slick and open already, and he tried not to think about how it would feel when the dildo would actually reach the size he had optimistically set as its limit.

His balls tightened when the device pulled out completely, leaving him open and needy. He panted into the pillow, feeling the cockhead circling his hole again, toying with it, and it felt so much bigger that he actually jumped a little when it wound its way into him again. And, _oh yes_. It definitely had increased its size. He felt the stretch now, not exactly painful but not comfortable either.

He was hyperaware of every motion, every muscle clenching inside of him. When the silicone cock pushed insistently into him, he gripped the handholds like a lifeline and just let it happen. It was not the size of an actual cock yet, but not that far away from it either, and Tony tried to imagine Steve’s fingers stretching him, opening him up. How would his face look? What would he say if he knew how desperate Tony was for him? Would his eyes be black with lust, his mouth hanging open a little, panting and whispering dirty things into Tony’s ears? Or would he be silent, intensely focused like he was in the battlefield?

The thing was pressing more deeply into him now. He wriggled against the pillow and while his own cock wasn’t fully erect yet, it was a close call. He was resisting the urge to slide a hand down between his legs, to grab for his dick and ease the pressure a little. He didn’t want to drown out the feeling of being invaded like this, he wanted to feel every movement, every slow drag in and out of his body. He desperately wanted to come just from that, wanted to believe that he could come from Steve’s cock only.

It was so good now, a low but constant burn of pleasure. He felt himself trembling, wanted it harder, faster. He was breathing loudly, was making needy and a little helpless sounds. He had known it would be amazing, well, he had build the thing, how could it not be amazing, but this ... this was mind-blowing. He moaned, loud and unashamed, his eyes wide open with the stretch.

“More,” he commanded, bracing himself on the handholds. “I can take it. Come on.”

Abruptly, Tony could feel the thing starting to move in earnest. It arched and twisted deep within him. He felt his own cock pulse, most definitely hard now. And then the dildo was grazing his prostate and Tony was letting out a keening sound that was echoing loudly through the workshop. He jerked backward, trying to take more, trying to make it force him open wider.

“Steve,” he moaned, now picturing the soldier pounding into him.

“Yeah, just like that,” he panted, moving his hips backwards. “Fuck me,” he begged, jerking his hips down towards the pillow, trying to get a little friction. He imagined Steve’s fingers digging into his hips, kneading his skin there.

He was crying out at each stroke now, felt himself being taken apart. It kept getting bigger still and it wasn’t finished, Tony knew. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but at this point he was willing to find out.

He clenched down on the dildo, tried to keep it inside him and started to rub himself against the pillow in earnest now. He needed the friction. _Anything_. His moans filled the air, a constant stream of desperate sounds.

“Come on, come on …,” he whined, grabbing at the handholds as he felt his body going tense. The dildo was forcing him open wider still, stretching him beyond the point he thought possible and he could do nothing but take it, take everything, let himself be used and held and …

“Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. There, right there …”, he yelled and that was it. He came with a hoarse shout, come painting the pillow beneath him and the machine fucked him right through it. It kept ramming itself into Tony, rhythmically, hard and unrelenting, again and again. It didn’t slow down, didn’t so much as give Tony a little time to get a breath. It just took and took and Tony yelled into open air, completely gone, and he was so sensitive now, and why was the machine not _slowing down_?

But then again, did he really want it to stop? He knew the machine would immediately pause if he even so much as thought about it; he'd made sure of that. But while Tony was wound as taut as a bowstring right now, he had to admit that he didn’t – not really – want it to be over just yet.

His fingers were shaking around the handles and he kept rubbing his forehead erratically against the cool surface beneath him. At this moment, it was more pain than pleasure, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop rocking back against the hard thrusts. He wanted it to hurt, he wanted to _feel_ it. He needed to know how far he could go. All things considered, this was still a scientific experiment and he had to see this through to the very end.

He was stretched as wide as he imagined he was physically able to without being injured, his own cock only distant echo of need, and he just sagged back onto the platform, letting himself be taken. He felt tears starting to stream down his cheeks, and he started to laugh, because _geez_ , he had never been so utterly out of his mind, had never been that far gone and it felt so, so good.

The machine was speeding up, its width and length now reaching its maximum and it was so big that he could do nothing more than sob against the pillow underneath his chest. He could feel it all, could feel the skin around his hole stretch, could feel the slickness within him and the wet spot he kept rubbing his cock against.

The thrusts were hard and sharp and he could feel himself tensing. It was like being turned inside out, like it was splintering Tony in a half and he wanted it all, wanted Steve to take him apart and put him back together again.

He had been absolutely certain that he wouldn't be able to get it up again. It wasn't like Pepper and he hadn't tried before, but it always took at least a couple of hours of sleep before he could go again. Somewhere along the way, he had admitted to himself that he was simply getting too old to do two rounds in a row.

Well. Seemed like getting his ass fucked did the trick for him.

Who would've thought?

Anyway, he felt his dick swell and couldn’t stop himself from laughing a bit hysterically. It was still only a distant throb between his legs, but he just _knew_ he’d be able to come again within minutes. And suddenly, the pain subsided, the oversensitivity giving way for a new and stronger wave of pleasure.

The strokes were perfectly aimed, hitting his prostate with every movement and Tony had had a lot of sex in his life, a lot of pretty great sex, too, but this was something else entirely.

He imagined Steve’s hands roaming over his back, before he would place them on Tony’s hips, gripping, kneading, _hurting_ and ... Tony shouted hoarsely and felt a new wave of tears streaming down his face. “Oh fuck, I can’t, I really can’t ...,” he sobbed into the pillow and there might have been a moment when he was able to acknowledge that the little squeeze ball was falling out of his hand and dropping to the ground. He knew, rationally, that that couldn’t be good, that he should have fastened the thing to the armrest so he would’ve been able to grab for it again. But now it was too late anyway and the machine would know when he was done. Really, there was no reason to worry about it at all.

Next time, he would install Steve’s voice into the machine. Ethically, he knew that was taking another step towards wrongness, but his lust filled brain just imagined how it would be to hear Steve talking to him while he was ramming his dick deep into Tony, calling him names, telling him how good he felt and –

God, he really was a pervert. When exactly had he become this obsessed?

Tony shuddered helplessly against the platform. His cock was fully hard again, leaking against his own stomach and he knew it wouldn’t take long now.

 “Shit, shit, shit,” he sobbed. The thing inside him jerked deeply, pulsing hotly and pumping inside him hard enough to make him gasp every time it entered him again. His fingers were grabbing the handholds in a vice grip, as the machine was thrusting into him over and over again, stretching him, pulling him apart. It was grazing his prostate with every stroke and he couldn’t do anything but cry out every single time.

“Oh fuck, I can’t, I seriously can’t …,” he gasped.

God, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He would let this thing use him until he was nothing more than a quivering, shaking mess.

Or that’s what he would have done.

What he hadn’t calculated, though, was that JARVIS wouldn’t be happy about him losing the squeeze ball. And suddenly there was a faint click in front of him, and that was the only warning he’d have and then the doors of the workshop were slowly sliding open.

“I am deeply sorry, sir,” JARVIS chimed in the second the blackout was automatically deactivated. “I called for help, since I’m not able to make sure that this is still consented.”

“Hghn, Hghn, Hghn ...,” Tony mumbled against the pillow and he really _really_ hoped that JARVIS’ top-of-the-class transmitter would be able to understand him saying, _Watch me consent to your fucking reprogramming, you traitor_.

He couldn’t _see_ anything. _Fuck_.

His vision was blurred with sweat and tears and while under normal circumstances he would’ve been able to know who just came in simply by the sound of their footsteps, he certainly wasn’t now. This was probably the single most humiliating moment of Tony’s life (and that counting in all the shit that Pepper had caught him doing) and there was nothing he could _do_ about it.

“Tony,” a stunned voice said. “What the hell?”

Oh God. It was Steve.

Of course it would be Steve.

He would _end_ JARVIS.

Tony stiffened and that instantly made the machine lower its speed. Just a fraction, really, but then it started to pull out of him and that was … that was just unacceptable … he was so _close_ again, dammit – and it was enough to snap him out of his stupor.

“No!” he shouted and _holy shit_ , he had never heard himself sounding so _wrecked_. “Don’t stop, God, I need to ...”

On command, the dildo rammed itself into Tony in one hard, smooth stroke. He moaned loudly, even though he knew that he should stop this, that he could not do this to Steve, could not force him to watch something like that. He should take what was left of his dignity and command the machine to shut down before it was all too late.

But God, he was so _close_. He had been tethering on the edge for minutes, and if he was honest with himself, there was only one way down now.

His vision slowly cleared and he saw the moment when Steve took the whole thing in. His blue eyes were huge, shocked beyond reason and wandering frantically over Tony and the machine. His gaze was slowly dropping down, searching, finding and – Steve gasped. And, oh yeah, right, Tony should probably not have painted the S.T.U.D.’s base red, white and blue, after all. He may have gotten a little carried away there, honestly. He tried to remember if he had painted a star somewhere and failed. He couldn't think clearly, couldn’t think at all, actually. And he was so glad that he hadn’t installed Steve’s deep baritone voice into the machine yet, calling him things like _whore_ and _slut_.

That might have made this situation a little awkward.

The thrusts were hard and unrelenting and Tony shouted hoarsely, pressing his ass into the movement, because he just could _not_. Screw it all. It was too late anyway and he wanted more, he wanted _everything_.

“Steve,” he moaned suddenly, because he couldn’t _think_ straight. Dammit. And he knew, deep down, that the Captain would never talk to him again, never even _look_ at him again, but he could do nothing about it, could only repeat Steve’s name over and over again, until finally, for a second time, white blazing pleasure took over his whole body, making him gasp, making him shudder. He screamed for what seemed like minutes and let himself fall … fall … fall …

And this time, the machine’s movement slowed down immediately, still shallowly thrusting into him, but only to prolong the waves of his orgasm until he was finally … finally spent and empty and so, so very satisfied.

When Tony loosened his grip on the handholds, when the silicone dick shrank back to its original size and plopped out of him with an embarrassing wet sound, when he looked up, his vision finally clear again, Steve was already gone.

 

* * *

 

An hour later he entered the kitchen and since this was his life, and lately his life sucked beyond measure, the only other person present was Steve. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, absently flipping through a thick book.

The second the soldier felt his presence, he immediately averted his gaze and Tony saw the tell-tale pink blush that coloured his cheeks.

“Hey,” Tony said quietly, cautiously walking into the room.

Steve nodded stiffly.

“What are you reading?” he asked, because averting unpopular topics was something he was born to do.

Steve just flipped the cover, so Tony could read the title.

_An American Tragedy._

Well. That was certainly fitting.

“Light reading, huh?” he smiled, circling the counter. He didn’t walk much closer to Steve, though, there were still two or three feet separating them and Tony guessed it might be better to keep a certain distance for this kind of conversation. If Steve decided to punch him, which would only be fair, really, he might even have a slight chance to dodge out of it. “Good one, though. So you like the bookshelf? I’m glad. JARVIS picked out most of the titles, but I –”

“Yeah,” Steve interrupted abruptly. “I do. Thank you. I just finished this chapter and was about to go for a run, so …” He smiled and it was so, so _unbelievably_ fake and not at all like all his other wonderful, honest smiles … and God, Tony had done that. Tony had taught Steve Bona Fide Rogers how to do the public smile. Tony had made that _necessary_.

God, he truly was an awful person. He made everything good around him turn sour. He corrupted it, tainted it with his presence until nothing was left.

Steve stood up, carelessly tossing the book on one of the chairs and by the time Tony had come back to the present, Steve was already about to step into the elevator.

“Wait!” he shouted, following the soldier in a slow jog. “Steve, hey, please, can we talk about this?”

Steve’s finger lingered on the button that’d close the door between them, literally, metaphorically, but he didn’t push it, not yet. “Do we have to?” he asked quietly.

“Well I … no, we don't. But … I hate to be the responsible adult, but we're teammates, right? We should at least be able to look at one another.”

Steve forced his gaze towards Tony, facing him like he faced his enemies, with stubborn determination. As if that would prove anything other than how utterly and completely uncomfortable he was around Tony.

“Look, it happened,” Tony said, stepping on the doorsill. “We both know there's no way to undo it and I would, believe me. Well, at least the part, where you marched in and had to see me like this … I am sure you could've done without that. Any chance that you can just forget the whole gig?”

“You mean the _gig_ where you knelt in front of a _machine_ and …” Steve swallowed, unable to continue the sentence. _And let it fuck you._ He really didn't need to say it. Tony had been there for that particular part.

“Yeah, that. Look, not that it makes this any less weird, but for what it's worth, I have never done this before. That was basically the maiden flight ... or ride ... Well, you know what I mean. Point is, I know that this is pretty messed up, but this is me, so you shouldn't be all that surprised. JARVIS wasn't. Frankly, I think he was more surprised that I hadn't done this sooner and –”

“Tony,” Steve cut in. “Why the paint?”

“I ... what?”

“You painted it … the thing, it –”

“The S.T.U.D.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I named it S.T.U.D. Capital letters. It's an acronym for ... uh ... yeah, never mind.”

Steve shook his head, like he was trying to get rid of a very disturbing image. “Why did you paint it in my colours? I mean ... did you want me to believe … is this some kind of sadistic joke or was it … I don’t know, a patriotic thing?” Steve scrunched his face like he couldn’t decide which answer he would find more upsetting.

“No, it’s not a ... God, look, the paint was just me, making a private joke with myself, really, you know how obnoxious I can be ... and the whole thing about, well, building a fucking machine –”

Steve groaned and for a second Tony thought he would cover his ears and sing _la la la_.

“I just ... I was … horny,” he quietly admitted and hell, he was so glad he had stopped blushing somewhere in the 90s, because this was downright degrading, even for him. Steve’s face, though, Steve’s face was beet red, and he was looking anywhere but Tony.

He braced his shoulders and forced himself to go on. “I was extremely horny, Steve. The kind of _I can’t think straight anymore-horny_ , and it was just getting worse and you know, going after my gun didn’t really do the trick anymore and I – I was getting a bit desperate, honestly, and I am me, so I can’t just go out there and ask people to have sex with me. Well I could, but it would piss Pepper off, and she worked so hard to get me off the playboy image, and I just thought ... I thought, well, why bother if I can perfectly well get what I need all by myself, you know?”

“Why did it ... why was it getting worse?” Steve all but whispered, still not looking at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, Tony, don't make me say it. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I ... we're not going to talk about that. I apologized, or – I didn't, did I? Anyway, I _am_ sorry you had to see that. I know you're not even used to most things that are far less kinky than that, and I shouldn't have confronted you with something like that. Although, I hope you know that I didn't call you down there on purpose –”

“No, I get it. JARVIS thought you had lost the control over the ... thing.”

“S.T.U.D., but yeah, exactly. He wasn’t allowed to do that by the way. I have a list with certain people, being called in certain situations. And any situation that is including me being naked does not include you being called into action. I wouldn’t do that to you, Steve.”

Steve snorted, and it wasn’t an amused kind of sound. He sounded angry. “Why do people keep thinking that I'm some kind of delicate flower?” he snapped.

Tony blinked. “Come again?”

Steve shook his head. “I mean, yes, sure, I hadn't exactly seen anything like that before. I'm not sure I was aware something like that was even possible. But that doesn't mean that I don't know that people have certain ... needs. That doesn't mean that I don't have those needs, either.”

He – _what?_ “You do?” Tony asked and hated how his voice squeaked a little.

Steve gave him a pointed look. “Well, here's news for you. I am a human being, Tony. I am also a man in his twenties.”

“I am aware of _that_ , believe me.”

Steve looked at him strangely. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” Tony said and started to walk out of the elevator.

“No,” Steve said and grabbed his arm, effectively rendering him motionless. “Just – stop, I need to know if –”

“What do you want from me? I apologized!”

“Why the paint, Tony?” Steve urged.

“I told you it was a joke.”

“About what?” he demanded.

“I don't know! About – the government fucking us all in some way or the other, I –”

“We both know that's not it. You said my name when you –”

“We're not talking about this.”

“How about you just tell me the truth?” Steve yelled, stepping closer.

And Tony got right into his face, like he always did. It was a thing. “Believe me. You couldn't handle the truth,” he whispered darkly.

Steve fixed him with a no-bullshit-glare and Tony had a sudden déjà vu of their argument on the Hellicarrier. “Try me.”

And Tony... Lost it. “What do you want to hear?” he shouted. And just _fuck it_. If Steve wanted to know so damn much, it wasn’t his responsibility to protect him from the whole mess that was Tony Stark. “That I build myself a machine so I could imagine it was you fucking me? That I was that desperate for a connection with you that I got off on a giant fake dick? Well, here it is, might as well get it all out there, right? I am in _love_ with you, Rogers, I have _been_ in love with you for months and I can't ... I don't – you're all I think about. Every time you even so much as sip on a glass of water I am about to faint like a damsel in distress, and I couldn't very well go on like that, right? I have a job, well two jobs, and being able to concentrate on stuff is essential in my business. I wasn't myself anymore, so I thought, I just needed to get all that sexual frustration out of my body and maybe – for God's sake, maybe I would be able to breathe a little. Get a break from lusting after you like a Goddamn high school girl!”

So, Tony had calculated two possible outcomes.

A: Steve would hit him straight in the face.

B: Steve would kiss him and declare his undying love.

Well, Tony hadn't actually believed it to be option B, but what he hadn't expected either was Steve to simply stare at him for a minute straight, then to turn around, stepping back into the elevator without looking back, his flat hand slapping hard on the buttons.

The door closed and just like that, Steve was gone.

It took Tony a couple of minutes to even open his mouth. “J, did he … did Steve …”

“Yes. I am afraid that Captain Rogers has just exited Stark Tower.”

Tony sighed, sagging against the wall. “Figures.”

 

* * *

 

“Sir?” JARVIS voice echoed through the open space of Tony’s bathroom.

“No,” Tony said, and his voice sounded hollow, even to himself. He pressed his cheek against the cold tiles while massaging shampoo into his dark hair. “Just don’t.”

“But, sir, it is –”

“I ordered you not to talk to me unless I explicitly ask you to.”

“I am well aware, sir. And while under normal circumstances, I would most definitely obey your order, I am sure you want to make an exception in this case.”

“You’ve been obeying my orders enough for one day, you say?”

“Sir, I apologized for my behaviour. Several times.”

“And I told you to go fuck yourself several times. And just so you know, I don’t think that telling me what you did was the right fucking thing to do counts as an –”

“Sir!” JARVIS interrupted harshly and that was new, even for an ungrateful bastard like JARVIS. “Captain Rogers is asking permission to enter the penthouse floor. And if I do not answer him soon, I am sure he is going to leave again.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Steve is back?” It hadn’t even been three hours since he’d left. “Does he look like he’ll punch me in the face?”

“While I am certain that Captain Rogers will not devote himself to such a low behaviour, I am currently unable to decipher his intentions.”

“Join the club,” Tony muttered. “Well, let him in then. Tell him I’m still in the shower and will be with him in five minutes.”

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS said and Tony couldn’t for the life of him decide if the A.I. sounded smug or relieved.

 

When four and a half minutes later Tony walked into his living room, Steve was standing in front of the ceiling-high windows, thoughtfully gazing down on the city. It wasn’t really dark yet, but the sun had already set, bathing the New York skyline in a faint shaded light.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised to see you again so soon.”

And then he saw the bag.

Steve had a bag in his hand.

An obviously fully loaded bag.

“Oh my God,” Tony said, immediately approaching Steve, gesturing wildly while he went. “You’re actually moving out because of this. I can’t believe – look, Steve, this isn’t necessary, alright? I’m not going to force myself on you, or something. I won’t even touch you if you don’t – we can still be a team. God, please don’t leave the team, I’m sure Fury will assassinate me. He will bury me somewhere far, far away where no one will ever even find my body and I –“

“Tony,” Steve sighed, turning around and without warning, pressing his fingers firmly onto Tony’s lips. “This isn’t me moving out. This is me moving in.”

“You … what?” Tony mumbled around Steve’s hand. “But you moved in four months ago.”

“Mostly, yes. But I … well, I kept my old apartment in Brooklyn and everything that’s really important to me stayed there, so …” He held up his little bag and shrugged self-consciously. “I am moving in now. Indefinitely. I terminated the tenancy.”

“Well, that’s …” Tony frowned, mulling over how he could have possibly overseen something like that. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“I'm sorry I stormed out like that before. I should have said something, but I was a bit … overwhelmed, and I don’t have much experience in the love department, so I panicked. Also, I needed to show this to you before we talked about, well, _it_.” Steve took a little notebook out of the bag and pressed it into Tony’s hands.

“What is it?” Tony asked, and tried to not lose himself in thoughts about what the hell it could mean that Steve was using the l-word.

“Just open it,” Steve said, clearing his throat, and for some unexplainable reasons, he blushed a delicious deep red.

It was a sketchbook. What could possibly make a fully-grown man blush like that just because of a _sketchbook_? It was well worn, the leather smooth and warm and Tony took a moment to brace himself for whatever he was likely to see in there. Then, he flipped the cover open and everything immediately went into slow-mo.

There were drawings. Lots and lots of drawings. And they were all of him. Him in the workshop, him in a ratty rock band t-shirt, him eating, him drinking coffee, him joking with Dum-E, him doing some experiment with Bruce, him playing Mario-Kart (and obviously losing) against Clint, him halfway into the Iron Man suit, _him_ , _him_ , _him_. In some of them, though, and that was the interesting part, he was stark naked.

And it wasn’t just that. Well, okay, the majority of the nudes were anatomical studies of Tony’s hands, Tony’s face, his arms, his hips, his ass, but some of them … _some of them_ were downright _filthy_. Tony with a small sultry smile on his lips while stroking his own cock, Tony grinning deviously while looking over his shoulders, his fingers between his own legs, circling his hole. Tony with his lips stretched over another man’s dick and then, on the last page, a work still very much in progress, Tony screaming in ecstasy while the S.T.U.D. was working him over.

Some of them dated back four month ago.

“That,” Steve cleared his throat, and he was so red it would have been a bit worrisome if it wasn’t so adorable. “That was my way of dealing with … well, you know.”

Tony slowly shook his head but didn’t take his eyes of the last picture. “I _really_ don’t.”

Steve sighed. “Well, you’re not the only one who was … _affected_ lately. I mean, I didn’t build myself a machine, obviously, but I did this, and it helped with, you know …” He looked away.

Tony smiled now, but still couldn’t bring himself to look up from what was basically _Steve Rogers’ version of pornography_.

But it wasn’t just that, right? It was more than that. This … and how the fuck did he deserve this … this was basically a declaration of love.

He might actually have a chance to _have_ Steve.

Fuck his life.

“You said you liked me,” Steve whispered, his other hand flexing like he wanted to touch Tony but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Which was downright ridiculous.

So Tony finally met his gaze, and Steve looked so unsure of himself that Tony just couldn’t help himself anymore. “No,” he said deliberately slow, and for a second, Steve’s entire face collapsed. “I said I _loved_ you,” he said, not breaking eye contact.

“Do you?” Steve’s voice cracked, but he looked so very hopeful. “Love me?”

“You really seem to have problems with that concept.”

“I just … every time I even so much as tried to talk to you in the last weeks, you bolted out of the room.”

“Because I couldn’t stand your whole, well, wholesome American perfection anymore. I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to actually be with you. Hence the fucking machine.”

“I am a lot of things, Tony, but I’m not perfect.”

“To me, you are,” he said and groaned. _Seriously_ , how did stuff like that just come out of his mouth? There had been a filter once. He hadn’t always been that obvious, he was sure of it.

But Steve smiled, and this time, it wasn’t the fake one. It was the genuinely happy, honest and wonderful Steve Rogers Smile and that may or may not be worth _everything_.

“I do, too, you know. Have, for a long time,” Steve admitted.

Tony tried to force the smile down that threatened to take over his whole damn face like a goddamn ray of sunlight. Instead, he cleared his throat, trying his hardest to not hop up and down like a five-year-old that had just gotten his favourite cookie. “You find yourself perfect?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Well, gotta say, Cap, that’s catapulting you up to number one of narcissistic Avengers, but I don’t mind a strong self confidence in my partner, it’s very attractive, really.”

Steve laughed, and yeah, he was cupping Tony’s cheek now, stroking his thumb against Tony’s mouth, and that did all sorts of weird things to his heart.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he whispered, leaning in.

“Well,” Tony said, their lips only an inch apart. “You love it.”

“Hmm …,” Steve murmured, finally closing the distance. “I really do.”

 

* * *

 

“So, what are we going to do with it?” Tony asked, stretching luxuriously on his bed.

“With what?” Steve murmured, while his finger traced invisible patterns on Tony’s bare stomach.

“The S.T.U.D., duh. Pay attention, soldier.”

“Don’t call it that.”

“That’s its name. It would be rude to call it anything else.”

“Do I want to know what it stands for?”

Tony grinned. “Probably not.”

Steve hummed, his tongue picking up the work of his fingers. He kissed Tony just a fraction below his navel and it was admittedly a little bit embarrassing how much that got to him even after all the things they had just done to each other.

“But the D stands for dick, right?” Steve mumbled into his skin while trailing his tongue down … down … down …

God, help him. He was already half hard again.

Tony gasped a little. “Look at you. All curious. We could still keep it, you know? No one needs to know. I may have to do some reprogramming so it responds to you correctly, but that shouldn’t take long, really, couple of hours and you’re good to go. I could paint it red and gold, too, if it helps.”

Steve rolled his eyes but there was definitely a small smile tucking at his mouth. His fingertips were caressing the curve of Tony’s cock, his eyes intently focussed on how it slowly began to harden again. Fuck, it shouldn’t be so arousing, how Steve was eyeing him like he was a strategic problem that needed solving. “No, thank you”, Steve said and his breath was ghosting against him. “I’ll have you know that I am very content with my current sex life. Can’t you just, I don’t know, deconstruct it?”

“Yeah, well, I could,” Tony said, moaning a little as Steve’s tongue licked a stripe up his shaft. “Obviously … uh, yes, _there_ … but in the end, it’s still an A.I., you know? And while I wouldn’t exactly call it murder, I’m not wholly comfortable about simply taking it apart.“

“Hmm, I get that.” Steve furrowed his brows, looking up at him with a thoughtful gaze. “Maybe you could give it a new purpose, then?”

“Like what?” Tony asked, his fingers nimbly playing with Steve’s hair, while the man was slowly taking his cock into his mouth and, just, _holy shit_ … “The only thing”, he started, groaning, “the only thing it’s really good at are sharp, snappy motions and …” Tony stopped short and his eyes widened a little.

“What?” Steve asked, leaning up on his elbows. “Oh, I know that face,” he said, moving upwards until his lips were ghosting just below Tony’s eyebrows. “Beautiful eyes sparkling, crooked little smirk, a manic tilt of the nose.” He pressed a little kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose, smiling knowingly. “That’s your _I got an incredible idea and you will not talk me out of it_ face.”

Tony grinned and pecked Steve on his left cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rogers. What you’re describing there is my everyday-face.”

Steve laughed, confident, happy and so, so beautiful. “What are you planning, Tony?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll see it when it’s done,” he said, parting his legs so Steve could easily fit between them. “After I am done, of course.”

Steve grinned, pushing his own erection against Tony’s cock, causing both men to moan. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he mumbled, kissing him.

 

* * *

 

_Two days later_

 

“Gotta say, Stark, that thing is really brilliant.”

Tony nodded. “I knew you’d like it, Legolas.”

Natasha eyed them suspiciously, taking in Steve’s red cheeks and the way he was looking everywhere but at Clint. She clearly knew something was off, of course she did, it was Natasha, but there was no way she could know _what_ it was. At least he hoped that. He wasn’t sure he could protect Tony if Natasha ever found out what had been the original purpose of their new gym equipment.

“Seriously. How do you get ideas like that?”

Steve groaned, dreading Tony’s answer.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony started. “Sometimes inspiration just strikes me hard and I really get into it, you know – let it just take me until all I can think about is –”

“That’s enough,” Steve said, putting his hand on Tony’s mouth. “You’re having far too much fun with this.”

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes at Steve and leaning up to give him a quick kiss. And Steve really would like to say that it didn’t make him want to forgive Tony every bad joke, every stupid idea he’d ever had, and instead just kiss him forever and ever … “I am not sure there is a way of having too much fun with this,” Tony stated.

Now Clint squinted at them, slowly taking his hands off the machine that was still acting out various expert maneuverers of stabbing them. Tony had named it S.T.A.B. and he hoped no one would ever find out the meaning of _that_ particular acronym either.

“Okay, _what_ did I just spar with?”

**Author's Note:**

> S: Steve’s  
> T: Tremendously  
> U: Unattainable  
> D: Dick
> 
> … or whatever else you’ve thought of! Thank you all for reading, and thank you morphia, who beta’ed this for me (: You did a wonderful job <3


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